


Game Over

by IcyPanther



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (not actually mute but cannot speak here), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Lance (Voltron), Gen, Hunted, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron) Whump, Minor Character Death, Mute Lance (Voltron), Predator/Prey, Sort Of, Whump, dangerous game, devoiced lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21582589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyPanther/pseuds/IcyPanther
Summary: The rules were simple, the two brothers said. They hunted them, their prey, for points. And they, the prey,… well they died. After they suffered, of course, as the game would be no fun otherwise. But not to worry, the brothers smirked, their games only lasted a few hours. Their pain would be over soon.Lance has no idea how he’s escaping. He’s defenseless, alone,terrified, and trapped inside the playing field. And now he’s gone and made himself a primary target so both brothers are (literally) gunning for him, the “hero.” He’s got to escape. He has to save everyone. But… but he doesn’t even know how he’s supposed to save himself.
Comments: 61
Kudos: 374





	Game Over

**Author's Note:**

> **Timeline notes:** season one  
>  **Warning notes:** violence, blood, character death

Lance hit the ground in a pile of heavy limbs and an aching head, unable to brace himself even if he’d had the strength with his hands tied behind his back.

But even though his face took the brunt of the fall it didn’t hurt as much as it could have because he’d been dropped into a field of grass.

If he hadn’t been so absolutely terrified he might have appreciated the texture, it having been at least several months since he’d encountered something that reminded him of Earth.

But he couldn’t.

Because as soon as the drug keeping him sluggish cleared from his system -- and not too much longer it sounded like -- then the hunt was on.

And he was the prey.

Blon and Blan, two brothers who looked identical from their lean but muscular builds to their dark, amused sneers, to their large hunting rifles, had explained the rules to him and four other aliens all currently bound the same way in the flight over to what they called the hunting grounds.

The brothers hunted the aliens for points, each section of their body cordoned off into a specific bracket, and whichever brother had the most by the end of three varga won.

As for the captured aliens…

Well, they best pray for a clean headshot.

There was no winning for them here.

Just dying.

Lance was still trying to figure out a plan of attack, of  _ something  _ to save not just himself but all the others who had been captured, but the brothers had been doing this for a long time and they had built in so many failsafes it made his head hurt.

The suits were the largest obstacle. They were skintight black that was similar at first glance to his Paladin undersuit but this one offered no protection.

It was embedded with sensors at different points which based on which brother’s rifle struck where would award them points with a five dobash delay between strikes to prevent one of the brother’s from downing them and immediately racking up points on an immobile subject. Each alien was different, as they were all shapes and sizes, but Lance had his numbers memorized already.

One hundred for the fatal headshot. Sixty for the chest or stomach. Thirty for the back. Forty for any leg or arm, front or back.

The obvious solution was to take the suit off but that was impossible thanks to the thick collar wrapped about his neck that sent a static current through the fibers (and projected the headshot target somehow) and Lance literally could not pry it off of his body.

The current also had the added benefit of muting them. Lance didn’t know how it worked (he didn’t know a lot of things). All he knew was that it did, breaths still audible but any sound associated with his vocal cords gone.

No talking. No communicating.

And to top it all off the suits had a repel built in; they could not get within a pylan, or what Lance had figured based on where they’d been dumped along the field to be about twenty feet, of one another or the brothers once the latter activated their own repel capabilities.

It spread the prey out, Blon/Blan had smirked. 

And of course it too prevented any further methods of coordinating some sort of offensive, trying to overpower the two aliens with numbers, or even getting close enough to them to launch an attack.

Lance honestly didn’t how he was getting out of this.

He trembled.

He didn’t think the team would be able to find him either. He’d been snatched up from a mission gone wrong at a Galra-affiliate base. Lance didn’t remember much; there’d been an explosion, some sort of flash that had blinded him and then something had struck the back of his head.

He’d awoken stripped out of his armor, in the new suit, and the rules explained to him as he sat there, dazed and drugged and having no idea how much time had passed or how he’d ended up in this situation.

How did he escape?

How did he  _ survive?  _

The hunting grounds were enclosed, the brothers explained, surrounded not only by a wall but covered with a dome although it didn’t look like such as stars glimmered down in the dark expanse above. But, the brothers had grinned, they wanted a good hunt from prey who didn’t just sit there and give up. So if they were the last one alive and had less than one hundred points scored on them the brothers would let them live. A generous offer, they’d smirked. 

They didn’t say how often such a thing had happened and Lance had the feeling it was very, very low. But as they announced it on the ship ride over he’d seen the flash of hope replace some of the despair and his stomach had clenched.

Hope was dangerous.

And here it could be lethal.

They had no way of knowing the brothers would keep their word and even if they did speak truly Lance still didn’t want that outcome.

It meant everyone else died.

He didn’t want anyone to die.

He… he didn’t want to die either.

He didn’t know what to do.

“All right you animals,” Blon/Blan announced, “two more dobashes until our hunt begins. Time to,” he must have kicked someone as there was a thud although if they cried out it was silenced by the collar, “get your asses moving.”

Lance turned his head on the ground, gazing in the direction of the rabbit-like alien to his right, trying to catch her eye.

She didn’t notice.

Her own gaze was facing forward into the treeline and she was shaking so bad the earrings embedded in her ears, long pieces of intricate metal the brothers hadn’t removed, were clinking against one another.

It wasn’t loud, but…

But it was loud enough.

Lance’s stomach rolled again at what it would mean for her.

“Don’t you worry now,” the other brother said. “Our games don’t last long so you won’t have to worry about starving to death.”

Both laughed then, long and loud.

Lance’s fear morphed to disgust and then anger and he welcomed the burn.

These aliens… They  _ played  _ with people’s lives.

It was sickening.

And yet… The anger faded as quick as it had come. And yet what could he do about it?

He was about to…

“We’ll give you a five dobash head start to run and hide yourselves. We even promise not to look, don’t we Blon?”

“Of course, Blan. It ruins the thrill of the hunt otherwise.”

Lance tried to ignore them.

He needed a plan. But he couldn’t think of anything. His brain was going in circles.

He had to run. He had to hide.They expected that.

But he couldn’t fight; he had no weapons and no way of getting close to the brothers to take one of theirs. 

Run. Hide. Couldn’t fight.

And even if he could, what did he think he was going to do? The aliens had a foot on him and at least one hundred pounds of muscle. It’d be like swatting away a fly. 

Except they’d shoot it. A lot.

_ Dios. Dios Dios Dios. _

He was going to die. He was going to die he was going to die he was going to--

His wrists buzzed and he felt the manacles slip off.

“All right you animals, off you get,” called one of the brothers. “Make it a challenge, eh?”

All around Lance the other aliens were getting to their feet and Lance shakily joined them. But where they all took off running -- for the trees in front, to the high grasses to the left and behind, and what looked like an open expanse to the right (no one went that way), running and fleeing and going to hide just like what the brothers wanted-- Lance remained where he was.

The brothers were right there.

And true to their word their eyes were closed.

And their guns were held loosely in their hands.

If he could just get one…

Lance took a step and then another.

On the third one he felt the push back, like an invisible wall shoving at him.

The repel had already activated.

The nearest brother’s eye, a vibrant green, cracked open and landed on him.

Lance felt like he’d been dunked in ice water, defenseless and vulnerable and one hit would end him right then and there.

Was he about to…?

But the alien didn’t go for his gun or make any movement except to laugh.

“Well, well,” he chuckled. “Don’t see too many like this anymore, huh, Blon? That eager for death, boy? Or are you trying to be a  _ hero?”  _

Lance tried for his best glare but based on the amused quirk of apparently Blan’s lips it hadn’t been successful and now another pair of violent green eyes were focused on him.

“Definitely trying to play hero,” Blan said in answer to Lance’s look. “Cute, boy. But a waste. You’re a dobash down now and I’m gonna have fun hunting you personally. The last thing those pretty blues of yours is gonna see is me coming for you. Get excited, boy. I am.” His grin widened to reveal fangs.

“Blan, don’t play with your food,” smirked Blon. “Not until the game has started at least.”

“All right, all right.” Blan turned his attention back to Lance. “Get going now. You aren’t going to be any fun if you’re just standing there, little hero. Shoo,” and Blan made a motion with his hand as he closed his eyes again and his brother followed suit. “Run along now.”

Lance had no choice but to do so.

Standing there would only get him killed.

He had to  _ think.  _

He couldn’t think.

He headed for the trees for now, his focus on putting distance between him and the brothers and the trees offered the best cover.

Unfortunately the foliage blocked out the moonlight and made the going incredibly difficult. Lance realized his mistake in choosing this section within the minute but it was too late to backtrack now; assuming the brothers went for the trees (and he had the feeling they would) he’d run right into them.

Up. He had to go up.

The trees fortunately had a number of lower limbs and branches and with a small running leap Lance managed to wrap his hands around one such limb and flip himself on top of it.

The next branch was too far to grasp so Lance dug his feet, the soles of the shoes they’d given him slippery even on the rough bark but like the suit he couldn’t remove them either, and he scrambled up, the bark cutting into his hands.

He winced and kept going. 

Four limbs later and nearly at the top of the tree Lance stopped, chest heaving and his right palm bleeding where a splinter had lodged itself. 

Was he high enough?

He was out of sight of the ground, or at least he could no longer see it through the leaves and branches. But he didn’t know what sort of equipment the brothers had; they could have heat-sensors on their guns or scopes and Lance knew, ultimately, it could not be this easy to hide from them.

Otherwise everyone would do it. 

But for now it would have to be enough as he didn’t dare move and give away his location.

Instead he sat as far back on the branch as he could, the trunk as comforting as he could get at his back, and set about pulling the splinter out while counting out minutes.

Six minutes later the splinter was free and he had still not yet heard a thing.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled.

Where  _ were  _ they?

He’d made the wrong decision, hiding in the trees. He had no idea where they had gone and moving now without knowing that could prove fatal.

Stupid.

Stupid stupid  _ stupid _ .

He’d panicked, okay? A completely natural response given the circum--

_ Crack! _

Lance nearly fell off his branch as the gunshot shook the air.

That was close.

Very, very close.

Too close.

Loud laughter sounded that could only belong to one of the brothers.

“Thirty points for me, brother!”

No one answered him which led Lance to what he had been afraid of.

The brothers had split up.

_ Dios.  _ Oh  _ Dios.  _

He pressed his back further against the trunk, heart racing.

Could they hear it?

He felt like everyone could hear it. He pressed a hand over his own mouth to contain the gasping breaths his mouth was trying to make.

Quiet.

Be quiet.

Be quiet or he was going to  _ die.  _

The minutes ticked by and there was no more movement or sound.

Had the brother left?

He was afraid to look.

There was no breeze here and any movement would jostle the heavy leaves and give away his position. 

But the tree next to him, taller than his own, was moving ever so, the topmost branches swaying. Was there wind up there? Should he--?

_ Crack! _

Lance saw the blast, a thin yellow beam, penetrating the gloom, angled for the swaying leaves he’d just been observing.

And then he saw something falling.

No.

Not something.

_ Someone.  _

They were crashing into branches, snapping them every which way, and the fall completely uncontrolled. Lance realized why a moment later as they passed not even ten feet from him.

Their throat had been blown out. They were dead.

The corpse hit the ground with a shuddering thump.

“Aw shit,” the brother cursed. “That wasn’t supposed to be the kill shot yet.”

There was another thump -- he’d just kicked the body -- and another curse. “Fucking shit. Blan is gonna be so pissed. Only four left now. Fuck.”

There was one more muffled thud and then Lance definitely heard the alien walking away.

He remained where he was, bile tickling his throat.

Someone had just…

Just  _ died. _

Lance wrapped his arms about himself, the hug doing little to comfort him but it was worth a shot. 

What did he do? Did he stay in his tree? Wait it out? That was safe(ish) as they’d already bypassed him.

But he should get out there. Do something.

Do  _ what? Die?  _

Lance had never considered himself a coward but he also knew a lot of his bravado was a front. He had been trying to absorb all that had happened to him in the last few weeks -- Galaxy Garrison cargo pilot in training to suddenly a defender of the universe where  _ aliens  _ were trying to  _ kill them  _ and there were apparently gladiator rings and slavery and prisoners and so so so much violence and horror.

And he had been doing his best. He was trying not to show how off-kilter he was, how, how  _ homesick  _ and  _ lonely  _ that even Hunk’s presence could not entirely soothe as he was in  _ space  _ in a giant, echoing castle and he didn’t know if he was ever going to go home.

And now…

Now he really didn’t think he would be.

And the only person he would be lying to out here would be himself.

He wasn’t brave. He was  _ scared.  _

He wanted to go  _ home. _

His personal best chance was waiting here, letting the brothers take out the other aliens.

But that… That felt so  _ wrong.  _

And he may be scared but he wasn’t a coward. 

The Blue Lion had chosen him,  _ him,  _ to be a defender of the universe. A defender of the universe didn’t hide in a tree.

He didn’t know what he could do but…

But this wasn’t the way he wanted to survive. 

Lance took a deep breath and began his descent back to the ground. A few slow minutes later he was swinging off the bottommost branch and came to a rest a few feet from the dead alien.

Apparently the repel technology didn’t work when there was no pulse.

Lance hesitantly stepped up to the body; the alien a little bigger than Pidge with a long tail and features that vaguely resembled a frog mixed with a rhino complete with a giant spike on its nose.

“ _ I’m sorry,”  _ he whispered, as even without a voice anything more seemed too loud. “ _ I… I’m so sorry.” _

He should say something more but even silenced his words were locked in his throat. How he hoped the alien hadn’t suffered. Or been too scared. Or, or, left behind family. His eyes pricked at that.

He reached forward and gently pressed down on the alien’s eyelids and hid the blank stare before he straightened.

He needed to go. Go where he wasn’t sure but not here.

The forest was dangerous, not safe. He’d be better off heading for the grasses where even if the brothers saw him he could see them too. 

Lance headed for that direction in a slow, careful walk.

He also began to look for a weapon.

It was the only way he was going to be able to do something, anything. But while the forest was ripe with trees the sticks were too brittle, the branches too unwieldy and in any case he needed twenty feet to launch an attack and throwing a log that distance was not only impossible but there was no way the brothers wouldn’t see it coming and just sidestep.

He was in the process of trying to sharpen a decent sized stick -- Javelin? Spear? What the heck was he thinking? -- when he paused, sniffing the air.

Was… was something  _ burning?  _

The trees were still too thick to see anything beyond but he was definitely smelling smoke. 

Normal people ran away from fire. Lance carefully moved towards it, useless stick dropped behind, because as he’d already found not knowing had the greater consequences.

A few moments later he found the source.

The meadow had been set on fire.

Orange and red flames burned the grasses, sparks shooting into the air against the backdrop of rolling gray smoke and Lance froze.

He knew what this was.

They were literally smoking (burning) anyone out of hiding from the fields.

And based on the direction the fire was moving…

They were being directed to the treeline.

Where…

Where he was currently standin--

_ Agony  _ burst through his right arm and Lance stumbled sideways, silent scream tearing out of his throat and oh  _ Dios  _ oh  _ Dios  _ oh  _ Dios  _ he’d been  _ shot. _

His head was spinning from the pain and the heat and the increasing smoke and his legs gave out beneath him.

The impact had him screaming again as his arm -- he’d been shot he’d been shot _ he’d been shot _ \-- slammed into the dirt and he curled around it, feeling hot blood gushing and trailing down.

_ Dios. _

The air was clearer down below and Lance took panicked gasps of it.

He couldn’t seem to get enough.

It hurt. It hurt it hurt it  _ hurt.  _

“You can’t be dead already, little hero!” a voice sounded over the crackling of the flames and his pounding pulse. 

Lance ignored him.

In as much pain as he was in he still remembered the rules: he had five minutes between being shot before another hit could be administered and the brothers were being kept twenty feet away by the repel.

But the fire wasn’t.

It was much closer than it had been a minute ago and at this rate Lance wouldn’t have to worry about being shot to death as he’d be burned instead.

Another gunshot went off.

Someone else had just been shot.

Another  _ crack! _

Like shooting fish in a barrel.

The flames drew closer, the smoke thicker, and Lance couldn’t think about the others right now.

He had to get up.

He let out a silent whimper and curled up more around his arm. He was afraid to look at it.

He had to look.

Ocean eyes reddened from smoke lifted and he turned his head.

Oh  _ Dios.  _

The shot had torn through his upper arm front to back and the realization it had been intentional, that it  _ could  _ have been a headshot made him shake even more than the gore still steadily dripping.

They were playing with him. They wanted to watch him suffer.

_ Dios.  _

He needed to get away without them seeing.

_ How?  _

Crawl, his mind supplied.

Crawl through the burning meadow. On a bad arm with a hunter waiting to see him pop out so he could follow him and shoot him again. And again. And again.

_ Dios.  _ And yet it was still a better option than being burned to a crisp where death was inevitable.

Lance shakily pushed himself to his knees, his left arm cradled against his chest to avoid putting pressure on it.

And he crawled.

It was slow. Painful. Small sparks were striking his exposed skin and the smoke was growing worse and his arm was weeping blood but Lance pushed on.

He didn’t head into the fire (he wasn’t that stupid even while panicking, thank you very much) but did his best to skirt on the edges in the direction away from the forest.

He realized a moment later, as grasses began to thin, he was headed for the lake that boasted no cover save for the smokescreen the fire was still putting out.

Lance didn’t have any other choice. 

Slow and steady was his plan over a sprint as he hugged the ground now, army crawling as best he could with his right arm still held to his chest.

He was starting to feel dizzy.

He pushed through it.

No gunshots followed him. And since it had been at least five minutes that meant they hadn’t seen him and followed.

_ Gracias a Dios. _

The lake was rather large and open but near the banks it was peppered with fronds and a few boulders and Lance aimed for the largest cluster he saw. Loose rocks scraped at his chest and stomach even through the uniform as he slithered into the shallows and his breath caught at how  _ cold  _ the water was but it was soothing after the heat of the flames. His injured arm pulsed with pain and even in the dim lighting he could see the immediate water darken with blood, but after a few ticks it faded to a tingling ache and it was about all he could ask for.

He had no idea if the water was safe to drink but his throat was aching and the dry coughs that kept trying to break out were dangerous and really, at this point did it really matter? He lowered his head and took a careful sip, swishing it around his mouth.

It felt safe.Or, at least his face hadn’t melted off so that was a good thing.

He spat it out, gathered a new one, and swallowed.

It felt like heaven sliding down his throat.

And although Lance knew the fire had been made to push them into the forest the brother responsible would no doubt come looking here when Lance didn’t show. The flames and smoke were still strong but he didn’t have time to waste.

He needed a plan.

He still needed a weapon.

Lance cast his eyes around the moonlit lake for inspiration.

They landed on the stones on the bank.

Those… those could work.

They were smooth from the water but intermixed with the pebbles were stones a little smaller than his palm that if he threw it with enough force… Maybe… 

It was a completely asinine plan with a very low success rate. 

But Lance would rather go down fighting (or, er, rock throwing) than cowering and hiding. The rocks shouldn’t be affected by the repel and he knew he could throw one of them a decent distance, especially as his dominant arm had not been the one shot.

But would it be enough?

He’d need to be at minimum the twenty feet to have even a chance and that meant… He’d likely be shot. Again. He shuddered and his arm, somewhat numb, gave a heated pulse at the movement and reminder. He did not want to get shot again. It  _ hurt.  _ And yet…

He needed to lure a brother (and  _ Dios,  _ please, just one, he couldn’t take on both) into some sort of trap where the alien would be encumbered and Lance could have time to try and find a weak spot, find  _ somewhere,  _ to hit him and somehow, somehow obtain his gun.

The answer became obvious a tick later.

The lake.

He was an excellent swimmer, not to brag. If he could lure one of them into it they’d be no doubt be slowed down. He could make the alien drop the gun with well placed rock strikes and it would sink and he could dive for it because if it sank more than twenty feet the repel wouldn’t work and then he’d be armed and then…

And then… and then he’d have to kill the brother.

His heart stuttered.

He’d… he’d never killed anyone before.

But leaving him alive was far too dangerous. 

He swallowed.

He… he would do it. He  _ had  _ to do it. 

And go.

xxx

Ten minutes later he was ready. He’d made a sort of sling out of the water plants and it was secured across his chest. Twelve stones he’d selected based on their size were clunking around in it and he prayed it didn’t break.

Unfortunately he’d realized one issue with his plan to lure a brother to him.

He needed to get out of the water.

Right now he was submerged waist down (and a check of the lake had revealed it was plenty deep enough further out for his purposes) and the only target he presented was his chest (very bad idea), head (worse idea) or his arms and he absolutely could not afford to lose his left one.

He’d have to sacrifice a leg and hope the brother went for it with the intent of chasing lame prey.

His stomach turned over at the very thought.

But if he didn’t do this…

It was what propelled him back to the bank and up and out of the lake, injured arm tucked somewhat in his sling as without the cold and buoyancy of the water it was starting to hurt again and this way the real purpose of the sling was disguised. He moved slowly, pacing the bank and looking out towards the meadow and forest for any sign of one of the brothers. One still had to be there, right? 

He couldn’t believe he wanted one of them in distance.  _ Dios.  _ He sounded insane.

This whole thing was insane though, so…

He made an entire pass and not a single shot came his way. 

He would have to go to them.

Not far, he promised himself as he began to tentatively pick his way to the treeline. Just… just far enough. And he had to make it look like he didn’t want to be found while doing the opposite because no doubt they’d be on guard, even if not very concerned, given his earlier stand if he just strolled along. At least it wasn’t hard to look scared. He was still terrified.

His plan banked on a lot of specific criteria and if they decided to go for his other arm, for his chest, go for the kill… it was like he was walking to his own execution.

He was about two minutes into the forest now when he heard what could only be a footstep.

He froze. Was that…?

He had his answer as there was a sudden  _ push  _ and to his horror he found himself being shifted out from behind the tree he’d been using as cover. 

One of the brothers was right there. Even in the gloom and twenty feet away his sharp grin was visible.

As was his raised gun.

“Hello, little hero,” he smirked. And he fired.

Lance dove sideways, the shot missing him by inches, and his scream was silenced by the collar as he rolled once, twice, over his injured arm.

And amidst the pain and the new burst of dizziness there was grim satisfaction.

The brother had aimed for his leg. Not a kill shot. They were still playing and that meant he still had a chance.

But he was much too deep in the forest and if he got struck here he was unlikely to make it back to the lake and his plan would be literally shot dead.

Run. He needed to run.

Lance heard the gun whining with a charge -- eight second delay he counted -- and he rolled to the left, the blast striking the tree he’d managed to get behind, and scrambled to his feet.

“Ooh, a proper hunt,” Blon/Blan grinned. “ _ Excellent _ .”

Lance didn’t wait around to hear more. He ran.

Dirt and twigs churned beneath his steps and even over his own heavy breaths he could make out the brother’s footsteps. They were quick, but steady.

Deliberate.

The hunter stalking his prey.

He tore around another tree, rocks clunking painfully against his chest and his arm aching anew.

He ignored them.

It was about to get worse. There was no way he would make it all the way to the lake without getting hit.

“Run run run, hero, I’m right behind you.”

A  _ crack  _ split the air and Lance instinctively threw himself to the side. The yellow beam missed him by inches.

He kept running. Had to lure him to the water.

Step. Dodge.

His head ached. His arm pulsed.

Ignore.

Step. Another step.

He was dizzy.

Almost there. One way or the other.

Moonlight filtered in above. The cover had ended. And now… 

Lance swallowed.

And then he sprinted, long legs eating up as much distance as he could before he couldn’t anymore.

Even knowing it was coming Lance wasn’t prepared for the  _ crack  _ that split the air and then the pain as the shot tore through his left thigh from behind.

He went down with a silent scream, limb buckling beneath him entirely.

“Not running anymore now are you, little hero?”

He barely heard the taunt over the racing of his heart and he let out a choked breath as  _ pain pain pain  _ drowned out everything and he had to get up he had to move but it hurt it hurt so much, please, please, make it  _ stop. _

It wasn’t going to stop.

And if he didn’t get up now then it was for  _ nothing.  _

He had to get up. He had to fight.

If… if not for himself then for all those other aliens who just wanted to go  _ home.  _

Up.

Get up. 

Get  _ up.  _

He somehow did.

He staggered as vertigo kicked in, as his leg  _ screamed  _ as he put weight on it and he felt blood  _ gush  _ but he didn’t have time to stand around.

The plan.

“Oh ho, impressive,” Blon/Blan called where he was stationed about twenty feet out; the repel boundary. “Just what I’d expect from a little hero.”

Lance began a slow, unsteady, painful limp to the lake.

He could feel glowing green eyes trained on his back the entire time and they followed.

“Where are you going, little hero?” he asked, amused. “You think you can get away from me now?”

Lance kept going.

Water. Get to the water.

With not even a minute left by his count of the ceasefire Lance hit the bank.

He wasn’t graceful as he stumbled into the lake, plowing into the shallows and heading for deeper waters. 

Please, he prayed, awkwardly maneuvering with injured limbs. Please let the alien follow.

A look over his shoulder revealed the brother still positioned on the bank. 

He wasn’t following; his gun range was long enough to avoid having to do so.

Lance needed him to though. His left hand dug out one of the rocks from the sling. Go time.

The force behind it was minimal, both because of the distance and Lance had misjudged his strength when he also needed to be treading water, but it struck the dirt right in front of Blon/Blan’s feet as intended.

The surprise on the alien’s face disappeared at what he thought was a miss. “Cute, hero,” he said, raising his gun again. “But--”

Lance threw another.

That one pinged off the alien’s forehead, still lacking power.

The gun lowered and the smirk was absent, replaced with the beginnings of a frown. “You--”

Lance threw a third. That time the brother sidestepped and his expression darkened further at the interruption to shot. 

Lance stuck his tongue out at him. 

The alien colored with rage. “All right, that’s it.”

He stepped off the bank and into the shallows.

Lance resisted the urge to grin. All of those years of annoying his siblings had been good for something. He just had to keep it up. The brothers liked to be in control, reveled in the fear they created.

Mocking them on top of putting up a fight would hopefully be the push, literally and figuratively, he needed.

Blon/Blan moved quickly, small waves rising up at his force and size and repel doing as Lance had predicted and propelling him backwards and into deeper waters with little effort on his part.

Perfect.

But he needed him closer, deeper, still.

Lance gave a cheeky wave and a smile that had the brother letting out a low growl, moving closer and pushing Lance back farther. 

Lance could see the moment the alien had left the ability to walk and was now having to swim himself. He paused, glancing down.

Lance  _ rocketed _ his next stone with all the strength he had. It sent him dipping down at the force but it did the trick as it  _ smashed  _ against Blon/Blan’s shoulder and the alien let out a shout of both surprise and pain.

“Why you little--”

He charged.

It should have been a sluggish movement but it wasn’t and Lance’s eyes widened. Blon/Blan wasn’t swimming as he was but  _ floating,  _ bubbles being kicked up in the lake behind him.

That… that actually was going to work in his favor. The brother was chasing him out further and further into the lake, deeper and deeper.

Lance palmed another stone and launched it as well, this one batted away by the gun but the lack of fear, the prey attacking the predator, had made green eyes narrow and all traces of amusement were gone now. “You’re dead, hero,” he snarled. “Fuck the points. I’m gonna have your  _ head. _ ”

Lance’s heart stuttered.

That had not been part of the plan. Annoy him, anger him, but he’d banked on the brother wanting to rack up points, of watching him  _ bleed,  _ and not going straight for the kill.

_ Dios.  _ This was… 

Well. It just meant it was all or nothing now. 

He swallowed.

No hesitation. No…

No mercy.

Blon/Blan was raising the gun, muzzle trained at Lance’s head.

Lance forced himself to hold, heart thumping. 

The gun went off. 

Lance ducked under the water.

He popped up within the tick and not even blinking as water streamed down his face he threw his first of his last seven stones in the now five second delay.

He had to do disarm the brother now. If he didn’t…

Then he was dead.

He threw another.

And another.

It was a barrage and despite the pain, despite the way he bobbed in the water and exhaustion and dizziness were pressing in, each shot was perfect.

Head. Arm. Hand holding the base of the gun.

Blon/Blan was shouting -- expletives and exclamations of pain and rage -- as each rock found a home.

The second to last one struck his eye.

The alien  _ screamed  _ and both hands lifted to his face, bringing the gun with him although his grip on it was noticeably loosened.

Last one.

Last chance.

Deep breath. And go.

The rock, the largest one Lance had selected, hit the alien’s exposed wrist.

His hand spasmed at the strike…

And he dropped the gun.

Lance dove. 

His right arm cried out, his left leg protested.

He ignored all of it, his eyes focused solely on the gun that was slowly sinking twenty yards out.

He needed to let it fall twenty feet so the repel didn’t kick in and then retrieve it and get back to the surface.

He could very well drown down there.

Lance doggedly swam on his angle down, anticipating where he’d be able to reach it. 

Blon/Blan did not follow, his flotation keeping him up.

But, Lance realized a horrifying tick later, the rifle had not been the alien’s only weapon. Small beams of orange light were peppering the water now as the alien fired at will into the dark depths, and unlike bullets lasers were not subjected to the forces of water nor a time delay like the other gun.

One grazed his right foot and he had to violently swerve to escape another that would have taken out his head.

But he could see them.

And he could do this.

Twenty ticks later his hand closed about the gun.

It was large, far larger than his bayard, and the water was making it heavy down below. Lance hefted it into his arms, the butt pressing against his injured shoulder, and he barely contained the scream, a few bubbles still escaping his lips, at the action.

Gun secured he looked up. 

He had planned to swim to the surface to commence his counterattack, but the brother’s wild shots had given him an idea… and a target, location lit up by the still orange shots being fired in the completely wrong direction.

It wasn’t really honorable to do, but… But it would be successful. And far safer than going to the surface especially if Blon/Blan still had a weapon. 

Lance’s hand sought out the trigger.

He lifted the gun, pointing it at where the alien was.

He swallowed.

And he fired.

There was a recoil that nearly made him drop it and he did cry out that time, water flooding his mouth, as it  _ slammed  _ against his injured arm. He choked on it and his debate on whether to remain below, try a second shot, was pushed in favor of surface  _ now.  _

He painfully propelled himself up, feet kicking and his right arm doing its best to assist as he could not release his grip at all on the gun. If he lost it…

It was over.

As he went up though there was no force trying to send him in another direction, no pushback.

He saw why.

As he went up something was coming down.

The brother.

He…

He was…

The shot had gone through him, ripping open his chest.

He hadn’t even had a chance.

Lance breached the surface, the water stained dark.

And he vomited.

It was all water he’d swallowed and the barest traces of stomach bile and smelling it, smelling the blood, made him do so again.

He’d just… he’d just killed…

No.

He’d just saved himself. He’d just saved others.

He had to focus on that.

Lance took a shuddering inhale, then another and one more.

And then he made for shore. It was a lot further than when he’d started and there was no helpful propulsion system via the repel to aid him. By the time he reached the bank it was nearly twenty minutes later and his vision was starting to darken around the edges.

He was so  _ tired.  _

But it still wasn’t over. There was one more brother out there and Lance knew what he had to do.

But he was in no condition to be trapiszing through the forest and--

And he didn’t have to.

Because the brother was approaching.

“Little hero!” he called out, steps jaunty. “I need some more points!”

He hadn’t seen the gun Lance was hunched over.

He had no idea what had just happened. Or…. or what was about to.

Lance looked up at the address, revealing the twin gun to the brother’s own.

He saw green eyes widen, mouth form an “O” of shocked surprise. 

A familiar  _ crack  _ split the air.

And the brother toppled over, a perfect circle between his eyes.

It was over.

He’d done it.

Lance sank back onto his feet, shaking with a mixture of horror and relief, raising a hand to his mouth as though to hold in the gasping sob. 

He needed to get to the brother, access his remote for the collars, summon back the ship they’d sent off somewhere, contact his team, reach out to any other aliens that were still alive and get them help. But for right now, just a moment, he allowed himself to sit, to breathe, and just revel in being alive, shuddering out another exhale.

He’d made it out, he’d survived, he’d beaten the brothers at their own sick, twisted game.

They could never hurt anyone again.

And, as he rose to his feet, trembling and shaking but  _ standing  _ and  _ alive,  _ that was the greatest win of them all.

**Author's Note:**

> This was the reader chosen zine exclusive fic from my first “A Collection of Langst Zine” back from May to post publicly. That zine benefitted the amazing charity Warrior Canine Connection. Preorders are currently open for “A Collection of Langst Volume Two Zine” that contains two zine exclusive fics (like this, but, well, obviously different ;p) that will benefit the also amazing charity The Anti-Cruelty Society. [Preorders are only open to December 2nd so if you’d like to pick up a copy and help me help dogs and cats **you can find all information here.**](https://icymakesazine.tumblr.com/post/187798555566/preorders-are-open-quite-the-shiny-collection)
> 
> The prompt for this fic was “dangerous game” so it’s IcyPanther meets Hunger Games in a very condensed timeframe ;p I did actually plan to end this tragically but I don’t like ending the zine fics that way since I wanted readers to have not just closure but you know, not grab pitchforks since they have my address xD Plus, Lance likes it better this way ;p
> 
> If you enjoyed the fic, please please do leave a comment below detailing what you liked about it (the small details make my day!) Emotional support and validation is super important and appreciated and your comments mean the world. **_Please_ don’t just read and run! Leave a comment! Thank you!**


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